Burns and Smithers Take Canada
by Canned Tins
Summary: After lunch, Smithers confesses to Burns...that he's going to Canada. and thus Burns joins him, and they have quite an adventure. (DISCLAIMER: The author knows very little about Canada and will mostly rely on anecdotes and Wikipedia). Rated T for language and sex jokes, but might change later...
1. Routine, not poutine

"Smithers...Smithers. Where's the fucking soup," Mr. Burns drawled out, reaching over the royal purple velvet-and-satin couch with his clawlike fingers, breathing heavily as if each lungful of air pained him so terribly he could die at any moment.

The ancient tyrant's ever-faithful, bootlicking, ass-kissing lackey rushed in through the door with rabbit-fur mittens carrying a large and steaming bowl of peacock-and-truffle soup. Mr. Smithers smiled broadly as he gingerly stepped over the knickknacks strewn across the room to get to his boss-he'd clean the mess up right after.

"Oh, thank God, thank God for you, Smithers. I don't-I don't understand how I could live without you, my faithful toad," Burns looked down at the stew, "Oh, the soup is too hot! Smithers, add some water to it! And make sure it is not too full of Indian spices!"

"Yes, sir," Smithers bowed and rushed back into the kitchen again, so leaving Burns reclining on the couch melodramatically, the albino-mink robe loosely draped over his frail frame, thinking about the wonders of capitalism. Oh, he loved money, he loved it and he loved-

"I hope adding milk to the soup would soothe the flavor, sir," Smithers rudely interruped the old man's tragic internal monologue, but nonetheless he was pleased to hear that his assistant had nullified the soup, "Unicorn's milk, my favorite."

While Smithers was hand-feeding his boss the soup, he asked, "Do you know why I chose peacock for the meat part of the soup?"

"Because peacock meat is superior to regular cock meat," Burns nodded, and Smithers blushed slightly. It wasn't exactly what the sycophant meant, but it was pretty close.

And after he was done, Burns listened to his radio, which only played songs from the early 1800s and even earlier. Smithers was cleaning up the blackened marble floor while humming much more modern tunes, though quiet enough so his boss could listen better to the radio. Smithers thought about how he'd be bathing him soon, and then tucking him into bed, and then-

"Smithers! Where in the Devil's name are you going?" Burns asked, standing up from the couch and holding on to the assistant's shoulder with a cold hand. Smithers shivered a little, whether out of fear or arousal he didn't know, but nevertheless he answered: "I was thinking Manitoba, sir. Why did you ask and how did you know?"

"Manitoba, eh? It's a pretty shitty place, but it's cheap enough. I know everything about you, Smithers. Everything. Just like you know everything about me."

"So you know I'm gay?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Anyway, yes, I was planning on going, but I realized I need to take you there as well, and then I'd have to consider who would be in charge of the plant-"

"Lenny's in charge," Burns was already dressing up in an even richer and poofier outfit fit for rough Canadian nights, "Let's go."

Smithers pondered a decision for a moment before nodding, "To Winnipeg, capital city of Manitoba, yes? You'd like the shopping district there, I heard it's...decent. Sort of like Ross, but less peasant-y."

"Say, where is Manitoba?"

"Canada."

Burns sputtered, "W-what? Is that another state?"

"Well," Smithers shrugged, "It is in North America."

And so they went off to Canada, and when they landed, Burns' nose froze and fell off. It was very awkward.


	2. Breakfast at Toronto's

(Author here, hey, college's a wild ride, right? That's my excuse for delaying so long, besides other shit. Well, enjoy the second chapter, it's been collecting dust for half a month now.)

"Smithers, I must admit," Burns sighed as he lay in the hotel room bed, watching Smithers open up the blinds to reveal a cold and sunny Canadian morning. They had flown over to Toronto first, which itself took several hours. Once they landed, Burns had fallen asleep so Smithers carried him on his back and made sure to re-attach his nose.

Anyway, Burns sighed, "I must admit I was incredibly out-of-character hours ago. I'm sure you feel as flummoxed about this as I do. I don't remember speaking such vulgarities."

Smithers turned around, "Actually, sir, I thought you were just fine. You seemed more friendly than you usually are."

"Bah! I must have been besotted by all the whisky! Smithers, remind me not to drink too many alcoholic beverages. I'm pushing 105!"

Smithers helped his boss off the bed and into the bathroom where he could get cleaned up and dressed. The best thing Burns did in mornings was to complain, and he complained loudly while Smithers did his best to take care of the old man, knowing he'd get a few stares as they walked out of the room with Burns continuing his complaining all the way to the dining area.

"Smithers!" Burns complained, "Everything here is terrible! You said you picked the best hotel."

"Well, sir, it was the best I could afford, not you."

Smithers walked towards the dining area with Burns in tow, who was looking at the available food at the buffet. Smithers ordered a table for two and they seated together with menus in hand.

"Sir, would you like to use the buffet?"

"The what?"

"The cornucopia of food."

Burns nodded, "Ah yes, of course. Although I can't say I'll be too satisfied with what they have. No-one cooks as good as you."

"Smithers, what is this?" Burns pointed at a tray of indeterminate foodstuffs, "It looks so undelectable."

His assistant coughed, "That's poutine, sir. Cheese curds and french fries topped with gravy. It's actually pretty good."

"Gravy! Smithers, what is this, a peasant-hole?!"

"It's a hotel, sir."

"A hovel?"

"Hotel," Smithers looked worried, "Are you sure you're okay, sir? You seem worse for the wear."

"Flying in a bird made of steel does no good for the body, especially the one of a 104-year old, even though I am as spry as I was at 80!"

The chef interrupted, "Well, are ya gonna pick the food or are ya gonna keep bickerin' like an ol' married couple, eh?"

"We'll take the beefsteak," Burns motioned to his lackey so he could hold out the plates, "No gravy. Do you have blueberry sauce perhaps?"

"Nah, but we got steak and eggs," the chef plopped a hefty piece of steak and sunny-side-up eggs onto the dishes, smiling, "It'll do good. Especially for Methuselah here, he looks half-dead."

Smithers got angry, "Mr. Burns is doing very good for his age! I doubt you'll ever reach 50 youself, Canuck."

So the old man and the sycophant carried their steak-and-egg dishes to their table and began eating. Burns was disgusted at the idea of pairing steak together with eggs but ate it nonetheless, while Smithers was much more generous and happily gobbled up his plate.

"Sir, the flight to Winnipeg is at 5:30 PM, so we have time to browse around Toronto. It's cold, but it's nice."

Burns looked out at the window by their table, the snow had settled and blanketed the entire street. A goose walked by and bit a pedestrian at his rear. He didn't seem so sure if this trip would be worth it.

If only he could _make_ the trip worth it, somehow. First he'd need a new building contractor, and a _lot_ of geese.


End file.
